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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30090468">be sweet for yourself</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areiton/pseuds/Areiton'>Areiton</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Amputee Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Cake decorating as therapy, Dancer Bucky Barnes, Falling In Love, Getting Together, M/M, Protective Sam Wilson, TikTok</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 11:16:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,904</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30090468</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areiton/pseuds/Areiton</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The night he breaks down and downloads Tiktok, he can’t sleep--every time he closes his eyes, he’s right back in that camp, strapped down and screaming and they’re scooping what’s left of his muddled brain right outta his head. </p>
<p>He remembers Peter laughing about the app, though, showing him a video of a kitten, remembers it being calming. </p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James "Bucky" Barnes &amp; Peter Parker, James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>311</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>be sweet for yourself</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/VerdantMoth/gifts">VerdantMoth</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Happy birthday, babe!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It starts with a nightmare. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stark’s kid, Peter, keeps talking about a new app, about dances and recipes and even managed to coax Steve into making one of them with him, mango shrimp ceviche so spicy it had left Bucky’s lips tingling and numb but he’d eaten three helpings before Steve smacked him upside the head and they’d wrestled while Peter giggled and Tony watched with lazy, hot-eyed amusement. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Domesticity looked damn good on Steve Rogers, even if it left Bucky wondering where the hell he fit, with his missing arm and his Swiss cheese brain and two years of POW nightmares. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stark shoved him into one of the apartments in the tower, shoved a robotic fucking prosthetic on his stump, and a shit load of therapists at him, all while clinging to Steve like he thought Bucky’d try to </span>
  <em>
    <span>steal</span>
  </em>
  <span> him or some shit.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It takes a little bit of time and three one-night stands before Stark finally relaxes, which was nice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But the night he breaks down and downloads Tiktok, he can’t sleep--every time he closes his eyes, he’s right back in that camp, strapped down and screaming and they’re scooping what’s left of his muddled brain right outta his head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He remembers Peter laughing about the app, though, showing him a video of a kitten, remembers it being calming. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He can’t breath, can’t close his eyes without being </span>
  <em>
    <span>back there</span>
  </em>
  <span> and his pseudo-nephew swears by the damn thing--fact is, Bucky’s made worse decisions at three a.m. He downloads the app and curls around Alpine. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~*~ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tiktok, Bucky decides, when he surfaces two days later, is a fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>marvel.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s some </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit </span>
  </em>
  <span>on there, kinky shit and there’s a whole side of it that made him itch to reach for his gun to take out the fucking drug lords because who the hell knew cartel Tiktok was a thing? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But there’s this too--kids dancing and a Koran guy who smiles and tells the world he loves them, recipes that are interesting and easy, and these crazy talented artists that he can’t stop watching. There’s animals doing animal shit and Alpine likes those, </span>
  <em>
    <span>mrph</span>
  </em>
  <span>-ing at the screen when he lingers over them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s distracting and it’s exactly what he needs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then--</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well, then it becomes a problem. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~*~</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sees a dance. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It's precise, rhythmic, and for a second, watching, he can <em>feel</em> himself sliding into the mindset of that other person, the one they broke and hollowed out in the POW camp, muzzled and leashed and <em>used</em>, and he wants to throw the phone across the room, but Peter is leaning into his space, and he's watching the kid tonight while Steve and Tony go to a dinner Pepper insisted on, so he can't lose his shit, not with Pete grinning at him all bright and happy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I could do that," he says, and Peter's eyes go wide, startled, <em>happy</em>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That's how it starts. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~*~ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wears his Winter Soldier gear, the black leather and straps, the dark glasses and muzzle and hair falling in his eyes. He starts with duets, just dancing along to other people, but Peter never can leave shit alone and he ends up doing his own dances, the sharp staccato beats soothing. It's dancing, it's <em>harmless</em>, it makes Peter happy, but it also scratches an itch he doesn't like to acknowledge, the savage beast that's happiest with a gun in his hands, an extension of his own body, and he knows--</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They watch, the masses, his shit goes viral after about ten videos, and the comments roll in, about his hips and the hint of his looks behind the dark muzzle and glasses, the way he moves, smooth and precise and 'so hot'. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"They don't know I could kill 'em," he complains to Steve and Steve smiles at him, a little bit sad, and a little bit indulgent, and always so quietly accepting it makes something clench and twist in Bucky's chest. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Isn't that the point, Buck?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~*~ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He still watches videos, when he's having nightmares, and it's during one of those midnight binges, he finds the guy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It's a baking channel, and Bucky would normally scroll right by, but the guy--</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The guy is wearing a pair of dog tags, grinning gap-toothed and bright behind a little yellow cake, and he's </span>
  <em>
    <span>talking</span>
  </em>
  <span>, this steady smoothing ramble. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You don't gotta get it perfect, see. You can fuck up, the trick is keep going, smooth over that. Don't throw the whole cake away because it's got a few cracks." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky slows down and watches the rest of the video, while the guy talks about smoothing over the cracks, and using the flaws to make something beautiful. "This was gonna be for my niece, you know, but then it's got that crack in the foundation layer, so I thought--I see what I could do with it. And when you got cracks like that, you gotta go slow, gotta take your time to sort out what you're doing. But see here, we use a little extra frosting, hold it all together, bind it nice and tight. And then I used some fondant to put around the crack, made it hold something new, see?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The cake is tiny, a yellow burst of buttercream and big sunflowers and the guy leans in real close. "You don't throw something away because it's a little damaged, and you don't gotta hide that damage, either. You can use it, to make something new, if you're willing to put in a little extra work." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He smiles and leans back, licks a smear of buttercream from his finger with the flash of a pink tongue. "Be sweet for yourself." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky watches it three more times, before he scrolls to the next video. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At two am, he feels tender and raw, the way he did, right after the worst and best therapy sessions. He wants cake and a hug, and he sniffles a little, clicks follow, and goes to crawl into Steve’s bed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~*~ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His followers notice. It makes sense, since until now, Bucky didn’t follow anyone but Peter, who hid his own identity behind an alias and a red mask when he did science experiments for his channel. WinterSoldier following RedWingBakes caused a flurry, and when he got a chance to sit on the balcony of the tower, smoking and watching the guy, he realized even the guy had noticed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gotta say, wasn’t expecting to wake up with a follow from WinterSoldier today,” Guy says, laying out a dark layer of chocolate cake. “It’s nice to see you opening up, though, Winter, followin’ some folks. Hopefully the cakes and little bit of trauma advice helps.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He flashes a deprecating smile and Bucky watches, entranced as he smoothes black and silver frosting on the little cake, adding tiny clusters of red frosting. “I figure you're a vet--pretty damn specialized too, if your dance gives me anything to work with.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky’s breath catches, and Guy’s eyes dart up, like he’s meeting Bucky’s gaze through the camera. “Not bad, man. Not bad at all. You ever wanna talk about those dances and that mask of yours--you send me a message.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pans out and Bucky makes a noise, soft and hurt. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His star stands out, pretty and cracked, almost burnt looking in the dark black frosting. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Be sweet for yourself,” Guy says, and the screen goes blank. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~*~ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His name is Sam. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was a pararescue, is three months from finishing his masters as an LPC, and got into baking when nightmares kept him awake. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s sweet and snarky and Bucky spends far too much time messaging him, distracted when he’s at dinner with Steve and when he’s picking Peter up from school, when he’s sitting in Tony’s lab, letting him poke and prod at his arm. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam’s is </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span> is the thing--he hasn’t talked much about what exactly happened to him, on his last deployment, but Bucky knows what trauma looks like, what haunted eyes look like, and he sees it staring at him over cake and buttercream frosting, can read it in the lines of what Sam is saying, and he thinks there’s a bravery that he can’t match, with his dancing and masks and nightmares hidden behind dark glasses. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You could take em off,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Sam says once, when he mentions it, when he says Sam is brave. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He thinks about it a lot, about </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span> he still wears the mask. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s part of his costume, sure, but he doesn’t have to. He doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>need</span>
  </em>
  <span> it. It’s only that it feels </span>
  <em>
    <span>safe</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and he doesn’t know how to give that up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~*~ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam wants to meet him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They’ve been talking for months now, and sometimes, when he wakes up with nightmares, trapped in that place, he doesn’t reach for mindless videos, but he calls Sam instead, listens to him ramble about class and cakes, about flying and about his mama, and about nothing at all. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sometimes, he even talks back, and tells Sam what his dreams are about. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You aren’t there anymore, sweetheart,” Sam murmurs and it’s true but it feels like he’ll always be there, bloody hands and a ripped up mind. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That wasn’t your fault,” Sam says, insistent, and Bucky--Bucky never knows what to say to that, so he mostly keeps his silence, until Sam sighs and says, “That mask you wear, Buck. You ever think it’s because you’re ashamed of something that ain’t your fault?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~*~ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He posts the video at three in the morning, when he knows Sam is sleeping. Then he curls up in his bed, and he waits. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~*~ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam calls six hours later, the phone ringing startles him from his quiet, and he fumbles it, slightly, raising it to his ear. “Sweetheart,” Sam says, choked, and Bucky exhales. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m at Stark Tower,” he says, “Floor fifty-three.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~*~ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The video is simple. It’s just him, against a familiar white backdrop. Ben Platt is singing, a song Peter had played one night when Steve and Tony were arguing about wedding songs and Bucky had quietly asked for it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was perfect, made him </span>
  <em>
    <span>ache </span>
  </em>
  <span>to hold Sam close and show him everything he hadn’t before. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stands in front of  a white backdrop, and he doesn’t dance. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t play with his guns or his knives, make them sing with his body and the rhythm of the music. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He strips. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The guns first, and his knives. The black tac vest that so many call his bondage gear, until he’s shivering in his pants and bare chest, his scars and metal arm on display, and his fingers tremble a little, when he unclasps the mask, pulls off the dark glasses, and stands there, on display, staring into the camera. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And maybe no one will understand what it means, really, except for one person. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He picks up a cake, and it’s ugly, it’s got cracks and the frosting is lumpy and uneven but he says, soft and rusty, “I’m willing to put in a little extra work.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>~*~ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam barrels into the tower and never slows down, when he sees Bucky, just runs into his arms, Steve and Tony and Peter watching bewildered as Sam drags him down by his hair and kisses him breathless. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is that the cake therapy guy?” Tony asks, distantly and Bucky laughs into a soft warm mouth, groans when Sam bites his lip for his trouble, and holds on tight. </span>
</p>
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